Page 33 of A Weave of Lies
His hands lingered around her waist. “It is my pleasure.”
A scoff floated to her ears, and Semras glanced at Velten. He was scowling with his hands curled into fists. Confused, she stared at him.
“I bet it is,” he muttered under his breath. “Maldoza! Leave us. Your presence is not required at the moment.”
Themas pursed his lips, then stepped back and gave her a gallant bow. As he walked away, the young knight and the inquisitor stared each other down.
Then Velten’s attention snapped back to her, and he shoved a waxed bag into her hands. “Eat,” he ordered. “Return to investigating the Unseen once you are done.” Opening another bag, he retrieved an apple and bit forcefully into it. His gaze wandered over the sword-bearers, pointedly avoiding her.
Semras cocked her head. “Should an inquisitor be so eager to make use of a witch’s power?” Somewhere beyond the desire to needle him, genuine curiosity drove her question.
“I will fight fire with fire if that gets me what I want.” His smirk held no kindness. “The tribunals will not care as long as I get them results.”
“Oh, so they only tolerate us witches when we get themresults.” She sneered, fishing a hard cheese out of the bag. “Charming.”
It smelled good, a little smoky, and nothing like the kind she could buy in Bevenna. Semras took out some dried meat and red bread to accompany the cheese, then returned the bag.
The inquisitor took it back, eyes still fixed on the Venator guards scattered amidst the horses. “I concur …” he replied distractedly. “They are overbearing.”
The Deprived had a saying about pots and kettles and the colour black that she couldn’t quite remember. A shame—she was itching to throw it in his face.
Instead, she scoffed and looked away. Her eyes fell on Themas.
Leaning against the wooden pole, he had stepped away to eat his fare out of sight of the inquisitor, but not out of ears. When he caught her watching, he winked at her, and she smiled.
His presence emboldened her. “Was it a tribunal that ordered you to consult a witch?”
“Why do you want to know?” Velten finished his apple, then tossed the core into the undergrowth.
“Just asking,” she replied with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. “You haven’t told me anything about the victim or your investigation. I’m curious, that’s all. About the case, about what you do as an inquisitor …”
“Curious. About me. Likely story.” He looked at her, a smile slowly drawing across his lips. “You just want to know how I found you.”
Semras shuffled on her feet. He had caught her lying with disconcerting acumen.
“No need to lie. I will graciously tell you.” Eyes gleaming, Velten crossed his arms and leaned toward her. “I simply followed the trail of men you have deceived with your pretty smile—all the way to your house. As for the rest of your questions, you will not have answers, witch. I see no use in your being aware of such minute details.”
“What a delightful conversationalist you are, Inquisitor.” Semras snorted, then walked away from him, waving her hand. “You don’t want to talk. Fine. Enjoy your own company then.”
Once she located the source of the mournful cry, she’d ride on her own horse for the rest of the trip and suffer his presence no more, she decided. Her sore muscles and his warm, comfortable arms be damned.
Semras finished her fare, then got to work.
The melodious cry filled her senses as soon as she peered into the Unseen Arras. It permeated the air with multitudes of filaments, growing thicker as she traced them back to their source—the roots of the surrounding trees.
The wail’s threads climbed around trunks and stems to spread out in all directions through the air, the strength of their yearning fraying the wefts of the world, disturbing what was and what should be. Crying out in sorrow, pain, and grief, the forest itself was pleading for help and clinging strongly to whoever could hear it. Semras winced at its intensity.
“I’m listening now,” she murmured. “Speak to me.”
The witch walked around slowly, searching for what the forest agonized over … and then found it. Turning to alert the inquisitor, Semras didn’t find him by Pagan’s side. Her gaze swept over the company, seeking him among the figures standing amidst horses.
Within the Arras, both men and beasts appeared like filaments loosely woven into faceless shapes, their threads of blue, red, and yellow pulsating with the strength of their lifeforce. Some ofthe humanoid warp shapes turned to her with hazy, dreamlike movements.
One opened a black hole in the lower middle of its face. Then, it screamed.
Thin threads of sound stretched out of the faceless figure, hanging in the air until they faded into the ambient warps and wefts. Soon, others joined it, and three humanoid warp shapes waded toward her, their hands made of filaments reaching for swords made of threads.
Semras stepped back. Her feet lagged far behind her will.
